22nd Autumn 514AV
Early Afternoon
Early Afternoon
Adelaide was feeling tired, very tired, when she arrived at Zulaca Customisations in the early afternoon of the twenty-second and that in spite of the fact that it was a few bells since she'd woken up, that she'd had a good night's sleep and felt no inclination to sleep in the carriage. It all left her feeling ill-at-ease, wondering if she was ill. That morning she had had a headache too, her temples throbbing rhythmically as though someone had repeatedly kneaded that tender circle of skin. It was a good thing, she supposed, that her business in Kenash called on her to have her new dress fitted - something she considered more a pleasure than a chore - because she didn't think she could deal with looking for supplies or seeing Aria about her finances that day. After a busy morning, an afternoon with the prospect of little more than having a new dress fitted, collecting her grandmother's new walking stick from some shop on Dry Island and then going to the Playhouse for an afternoon rehearsal of one play then an evening performance of some other play. The distraction was very welcome.
In the carriage, she had spent time going through some lines for the play she'd be involved in on the 31st, the play they'd be rehearsing that afternoon. Not that she had a hugely large part but it was one area, the only area, where Adelaide honestly did not care about being second best. It was enough just to be part of it, to dream of one day being number one even while she made the most of the seventeen lines she had been given in her role as "Lady's maid", a supposedly comic role that she had not told her Uncle about for fear that he'd judge it beneath her. After all, Dervain might have trouble understanding that real life had absolutely no bearing on the stage, and that the stage didn't have to mean everything or, indeed, anything.
"Ma'am. There's a gentleman 'ere wants to talk to you. It's about that letter o' yours. The one you wrote t' Miss Gibson." Adelaide murmured with the light accent of a working girl, yawning slightly as she nodded her head in a shadow of a bow.
She left it a moment, giving place for an alternate line, before speaking again, doing her utmost not to yawn a second time.
"Well, apparently she's been cursed, and not long after receivin' your letter."
Or were they the words? Adelaide could not help but wonder if the word wasn't "transformed" or "accursed" or even "bewitched". Only, cursed sounded right to the young woman.
"It's like this Ma'am. Only this gentleman said 'e went around to see her this mornin' and there was a gibbon sittin' up in her bed, wearing her negligée. Now he wants to talk to you."
Of course it was the story of a Miss Gibson being turned into a gibbon - such a thing would sell - but it was a lot more nuanced than the poor pun would suggest. Still, the gibbon line was her favourite, especially the bit about the negligée and Adelaide took a lot of pleasure in trying the line in different voices. First, she did it with all the seriousness of someone who genuinely found the story shocking, mouth open and furrowed brow to convey her dismay. Next, she elected to try the line as a maid who, try as she might, couldn't stop herself from finding the tale too amusing for words, making that odd little grimace of someone forcing themselves not too smile and raising her voice at the bit about the negligée, shaking her head as she did so.
When she arrived at Zulaca customisations, the desk was unmanned as per usual. Still thinking through her lines and wondering if to make a hand gesture, putting her hand up to her mouth as though to stifle a laugh, would be to overact. It was then that Zoroaster appeared. Adelaide smiled good-naturedly but nervously at the Nuit who, although a pillar of his trade and thus worthy her respect, belonged to a race that always made the young woman uncomfortable - no matter if there was a whole family of that race living in Kenash in the form of the Zulaca.
"Oh, hello." she said, her voice slightly quiet, "I have come to see if my dress is finished, if it fits as it should."
"Of course."
At that point, a slave came through from the back room holding a silver-white gown
with silver threads. Adelaide made an exclamation of joy when she saw it. It seemed even better than she had imagined it when she had made her very specific instructions as to style, shape and colour. From the rough little charcoal doodle she had etched on the back of a napkin, Zoroaster had made a gown that would be worthy of any fashionable party or sophisticated evening. He'd given her more than she asked for: he'd given her what she wanted.
"You've finished it so quickly!"
"It would have been quicker if I had been able to take your measurements myself instead of being provided with those given to me by someone else."
"I apologise for not being able to come in myself. May I try it on?"
Zoroaster nodded in agreement and left into the backroom. A slave came through to help her into the gown. Ten chimes later, she was looking into the mirror that had been presented to her, a grin stretching from ear to ear. Evidently, though, the measurements had been slightly out. The sleeves cut ever so slightly into her underarms and the waist wasn't as perfectly defined as would suit such a dress. It was also a little long on her petite-ish frame, dragging slightly on the floor... not that that would matter if she bought shoes with some elevation. Something did have to be done about the sleeves though.
"Excuse me," the young woman started, but already Zoroaster had come over with a box of pins.
It might not have been the most glamorous of shops but the Nuit certainly knew what he was doing.
In the carriage, she had spent time going through some lines for the play she'd be involved in on the 31st, the play they'd be rehearsing that afternoon. Not that she had a hugely large part but it was one area, the only area, where Adelaide honestly did not care about being second best. It was enough just to be part of it, to dream of one day being number one even while she made the most of the seventeen lines she had been given in her role as "Lady's maid", a supposedly comic role that she had not told her Uncle about for fear that he'd judge it beneath her. After all, Dervain might have trouble understanding that real life had absolutely no bearing on the stage, and that the stage didn't have to mean everything or, indeed, anything.
"Ma'am. There's a gentleman 'ere wants to talk to you. It's about that letter o' yours. The one you wrote t' Miss Gibson." Adelaide murmured with the light accent of a working girl, yawning slightly as she nodded her head in a shadow of a bow.
She left it a moment, giving place for an alternate line, before speaking again, doing her utmost not to yawn a second time.
"Well, apparently she's been cursed, and not long after receivin' your letter."
Or were they the words? Adelaide could not help but wonder if the word wasn't "transformed" or "accursed" or even "bewitched". Only, cursed sounded right to the young woman.
"It's like this Ma'am. Only this gentleman said 'e went around to see her this mornin' and there was a gibbon sittin' up in her bed, wearing her negligée. Now he wants to talk to you."
Of course it was the story of a Miss Gibson being turned into a gibbon - such a thing would sell - but it was a lot more nuanced than the poor pun would suggest. Still, the gibbon line was her favourite, especially the bit about the negligée and Adelaide took a lot of pleasure in trying the line in different voices. First, she did it with all the seriousness of someone who genuinely found the story shocking, mouth open and furrowed brow to convey her dismay. Next, she elected to try the line as a maid who, try as she might, couldn't stop herself from finding the tale too amusing for words, making that odd little grimace of someone forcing themselves not too smile and raising her voice at the bit about the negligée, shaking her head as she did so.
When she arrived at Zulaca customisations, the desk was unmanned as per usual. Still thinking through her lines and wondering if to make a hand gesture, putting her hand up to her mouth as though to stifle a laugh, would be to overact. It was then that Zoroaster appeared. Adelaide smiled good-naturedly but nervously at the Nuit who, although a pillar of his trade and thus worthy her respect, belonged to a race that always made the young woman uncomfortable - no matter if there was a whole family of that race living in Kenash in the form of the Zulaca.
"Oh, hello." she said, her voice slightly quiet, "I have come to see if my dress is finished, if it fits as it should."
"Of course."
At that point, a slave came through from the back room holding a silver-white gown
"You've finished it so quickly!"
"It would have been quicker if I had been able to take your measurements myself instead of being provided with those given to me by someone else."
"I apologise for not being able to come in myself. May I try it on?"
Zoroaster nodded in agreement and left into the backroom. A slave came through to help her into the gown. Ten chimes later, she was looking into the mirror that had been presented to her, a grin stretching from ear to ear. Evidently, though, the measurements had been slightly out. The sleeves cut ever so slightly into her underarms and the waist wasn't as perfectly defined as would suit such a dress. It was also a little long on her petite-ish frame, dragging slightly on the floor... not that that would matter if she bought shoes with some elevation. Something did have to be done about the sleeves though.
"Excuse me," the young woman started, but already Zoroaster had come over with a box of pins.
It might not have been the most glamorous of shops but the Nuit certainly knew what he was doing.
